


Seasonal Lovers

by RavenZaiyo



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on a Vocaloid Song, Cranes, Crows, Disease, Feathers Across the Seasons, M/M, Mourning, One Shot, Ravens, Reincarnation, Seasonal Feathers, Sickness, Tragedy, Veretians become birds after reincarnation, selkie lore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 08:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16472210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenZaiyo/pseuds/RavenZaiyo
Summary: Inspired by the song "Seasonal Feathers"Laurent lives on a humble farm with his loving husband, Damen, but holds close a secret: he's a magical bird turned human. In the midst of their love, illness strikes Damen, and now Laurent must do everything in his power to save him.





	Seasonal Lovers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SEABlRD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SEABlRD/gifts).



> A gift for my bud Jai! He loves birds, selkies, and suffering!! He's also the reason I'm in this fandom. 
> 
> The magical bird transformation is a metaphor for being trans. As in, Laurent is trans-man in this story. 
> 
> This will NOT be my last Captive Prince venture, so if you enjoy this please keep an eye out for more of my works!

_**WINTER** _

"It snowed like this when we met." Damen murmured. Laurent felt the low rumble of his voice, vibrating against his temple. His hand trailed down Damen’s stomach, the texture of his hair a pleasant scratch against his soft palm.

Laurent withdrew to look up at Damen, search his eyes. They were warmer than the fire at his back. Laurent wanted to smolder back at him, but his heart caught in his throat and he only sunk closer to Damen, hiding his face as it flushed crimson.

It was true, Laurent had come to Damen in the dead of night in a blizzard, clad in a strange cloak that he’d left outside, leaving him only in a thin and wet white robe. When Damen had gone to retrieve it the next morning, there was nothing. He mused that his own clothes, though much too large, had been warmer and dryer.

It had been startling to find the beautiful stranger on his stoop, with his skin so fair and hair so light that he could have blended into the snow if he’d wanted. And those piercing blue eyes held a vast intelligence, though for the longest time he barely spoke. When he did at last, it was with a thick and strange accent. Endearing, but gone quickly enough.

Laurent was many things. Sometimes petulant, sometimes cold, sometimes stoic. But the more Damen saw of him, the more he understood the heart of this small creature of a man. Saw him for the small hidden smiles, the tiny sighs when he stole sips from Damen’s drinks, and the way his face lit up when Damen would call to him, or speak at all.

Damen hadn’t wanted to fall in love, really. But it happened, as things tend to do. Laurent did not seem to want to go back to wherever he’d come from, and Damen was lonely on his small farm, an hour from the nearest town.

And so, when Damen woke up one night with Laurent snuggled up to him in the frigid night after the fire had died, his icy fingers seeking his warmth unerringly, Damen had looked right into those glowing eyes and found himself breathless. The ambient light from the snow outside was all that lit Laurent’s pale features, and when Damen’s large hand cupped his cheek, he listed into it, his eyes fluttering closed.

Waking after that had found him much more willing to face love. They hadn’t looked back. And now, a year later, they were happy, though much about Laurent’s past remained unexplored. Damen, despite his curiosity, decided that when it was important to Laurent to share his story, Damen would be ready to hear it.

 

_**SPRING** _

As a young and humble farmer, Damen always had enjoyed springtime for its wonders. The reappearance of tiny animals, return of songbirds, and the wealth of green that sprouted in every step. And in the wake of this lavish rebirth, Laurent shined ever more beautifully. Damen woke early to find Laurent outside, singing to the birds.

At first, Damen was in stark disbelief of what he was hearing, but when he went outside silently, saw him singing for himself, warmth flooded him. He lay back down on the porch and listened. The birds seemed to love to repeat Laurent’s melodies, and how he’d giggle delightedly at them. Damen felt like he was receiving a gift, just listening.

It was during a brief interlude that he said upon a sigh, “You have such a beautiful voice.”

Laurent let out a small “Eep!” at the start, but when he took in the words, he turned a stark crimson. Damen glanced over at him, laughed, and looked back up. Laurent approached, hugging himself a little bit, and sat next to Damen. When their eyes connected again, Damen’s brow bunched as he noted that Laurent’s eyes were misty.

“If… um. If one day, my voice wasn’t beautiful… would you still love me and want me here with you?” Laurent wouldn’t look directly at him.

Damen’s confusion was overshadowed by hurt. Why would Laurent feel the need to question this? Again, he mused that it must be about his mysterious past. Damen reached up, cupped Laurent’s face. Laurent finally met his gaze again. “Of course I would.” He finally replied with all the sincerity he could muster, and Laurent smiled, even as a tear escaped his eye.

Laurent tried not to let it bother him, he really did. But his doubts and fears followed him into his dreams that night. It wasn’t a bad dream, so much as just a memory. Laurent could remember being trapped. It was cold, he was hungry, and his leg was snared.

Laurent tried prying it off with his beak, tried kicking, flying away. He was coming to the conclusion that in this body, he’d never escape-- and then he heard that voice for the first time. “Hey, hey. Hold still.” Laurent had cried out, not understanding, and thrashed harder as the hulking form approached. Damen continued to coo in that deep, calming voice.

Laurent, looking up at him, froze as this huge beast of a man went to his haunches in front of him. His large, calloused hand gently but firmly grasped his leg-- and suddenly he was free. Laurent gaped at him for a split moment before taking to the air and soaring directly over Damen’s head.

Right before he lost sight of him, he could still see him down there, staring up at him as he flew.

Laurent remembered peeling off his feathered cloak, becoming human. Remembered thinking of that kind, looming warmth, and decided that he deserved a proper thanks. Laurent hadn’t anticipated the snow deepening, and how hard it would be to find Damen. He was lost for so long that when he found the farm, he was sure he wouldn’t make it to the door.

His magical cloak discarded, Laurent had walked calmly into the hospitality of this stranger again. And with time, it didn’t feel odd. Humanity felt warm and inviting with Damen there. It felt right. There was no regret, no desire to return to the form he once wore. It was his face, how he wanted it. And Damen loved him.

But that was always where the nightmare would begin. If Damen awoke next to a crane, or found that feathered cloak hidden under the floorboards in the kitchen…. What would he say? With every day, the truth became harder to say, harder to broach. But was it really a _truth_ anymore? It was his past. His future was with Damen.

He always woke with Damen pulling him closer, cutting off the bad dreams and thoughts. Sometimes sleep would return to Laurent. Other times, he just lay there, listening to the rhythm of Damen’s heart beneath his ear.

 

_**SUMMER** _

Tending the field was hard work for anyone. Damen had always managed by himself before Laurent came. He was like a mule in more ways than just his stubborn pridefulness. Sometimes, Laurent would pause in his own work to admire the set of his strong shoulders, or the bulge of his arms. It was during one of these moments of reverie that Damen grunted, sunk to his knees, and began retching.

Immediately, Laurent raced to him, and shrieked when he saw that he was vomiting up something dark, something sickly and odorous. It smeared crimson on Damen’s fingers when he tried to catch it.

Laurent could barely get Damen into their house to lay him down, much less summon a doctor and leave him home alone. The nearest town was an hour’s walk. And so, with a detour to the trees, Laurent summoned a friend. Nicaise was young, and had always been mischievous. He would help Laurent.

Nicaise in human form was obnoxious. He wore his robe about him like the locals wore their chitons, and pranced about a bit before noting Laurent wasn’t amused. After a brief lesson of the contents of Laurent’s last year, Nicaise’s face bunched up, jaw set with a pouty kind of determination.

“You know the local language?” Laurent asked.

“I could pantomime.” Nicaise deadpanned. “Of course I know it. Do _you_?”

Laurent could only sigh, his shoulders slumping. As hard as he tried to stop, he couldn’t hide as fat, hot tears stung his eyes. Nicaise blanched before settling into a practiced aloofness. “Get in there with him, then. As the crow flies, I’ll be back before dark. I don’t care if I gotta burn the whole place down, I’m bringing you your leech man.”

Laurent only nodded tiredly. In one swift gesture, Nicaise stripped off his cloak chiton and draped it around himself, turning into a crow and taking flight with as much of a frightful noise as he could produce, hundreds of other crows following him in an absolute cacophony.

Nicaise hadn’t added that Laurent owed him for this task-- that was the kindest gesture Laurent could imagine. He hoped soon he’d have the energy to appreciate it.

 

The news was worse than Laurent had anticipated. He’d hoped beyond hopes that this was somehow normal, mundane. Curable in a day or two. No, the fact at heart was that Damen would die within the year if Laurent couldn’t find a way to make enough money to afford some strange concoction they only made in a city that lay four days’ walk away.

Nicaise helped him move Damen to bathe him and make him comfortable as he was unconscious, and finally got Laurent to sit down long enough to make him eat. Where Nicaise had stolen the bread from, Laurent didn’t care to ask.

“What do you plan to do? Even if you had the money, unless I help you, you’ll never get to the medicine.”

Laurent wouldn’t look at Nicaise. Nothing felt real. He even kept forgetting to chew the bread in his mouth, sitting with lumps of it clinging to the roof of his mouth. “I can’t let him die.”

Nicaise looked back at Damen, shook his head and rocked back and forth a bit before stretching out to lay down. “What do you plan to do?” He asked again.

Laurent got up, swallowing the bite of bread, and he marched to the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and pried the loose board up. He reached in and grabbed his carefully wrapped cloak. When he looked up at Nicaise, the shock on the boy’s face made his eyes sting. Past the lump in his throat, he whispered. “What I must.”

Shock turned to disdain. “You know what that means. You can’t possibly--”

“I will do. What I must.” Laurent repeated. “I need your help, Nicaise.”

"Gonna pay me in gratitude?" Nicaise sneered. Laurent flinched and Nicaise let out a groan of frustration. "I’ll help on one condition. You will not pull the last feather. Don’t abandon your family like that.”

Laurent wanted to argue. He wanted to get angry. He wanted to point in at Damen’s sleeping form and snap, “That _is_ my family!” but he couldn’t hurt Nicaise like that. Not when he was the only one who would help him. Not when he was the only soul he’d talked to in the last year who knew how he felt right now.

So Laurent just nodded, replacing the board and putting the knife down. “I won’t.” He said. “But I have work to do.”

“I will be back soon."

"If he’s awake--"

"I’ll call from the trees. Yeah." Nicaise turned away and walked off, already whipping his cloak back off. “Get some sleep, Laurent.” He said, before covering and flying away, leaving a single feather in the doorway. Laurent picked it up, held it, went to tuck it above the door frame for good luck-- but was too short to reach.

He looked down at Damen, bit his cheek until it bled, looked up and blinked rapidly. He let his breath out through his teeth, crouched down next to the bed, and tucked the feather under Damen’s pillow. Softly, so as not to disturb him, Laurent kissed his burning forehead and got back up.

His magical cloak still in hand, Laurent went to the loom. He’d made their garments for their wedding, and Damen had praised his skill. It was the first time Laurent had felt so proud and accomplished. Now, as he ran his fingers over the cold wood, Laurent felt nothing but that chill, though it was summer.

Unfolding the cloak was harder than he’d thought it would be. Even harder was pulling the feathers. He would start small, he assured himself. He didn’t want to waste any. Even with the pain he knew would come, Laurent didn’t hesitate.

The feathers of a Crane were prized here. Rare. And the magic within them was fabled to inspire, to promote change and growth. They were hailed as a sign of wealth, as ironic as it seemed to Laurent now. Even woven into a garment, that energy would persist, or so he desperately hoped.

Laurent began to weave, and didn’t stop for long. Even when Nicaise came to check up on him, he was hard at work, only willing to take the smallest break to eat and drink. It was after Nicaise left that Damen finally woke up, throat parched and sore from the retching. Laurent had immediately left the project, hiding the cloak where he could, counting on that Damen wouldn’t have the energy to wander.

Telling Damen the news was hard. He wanted to help with dinner, but if he stood for too long he grew dizzy and nauseous, and finally agreed to stay sat comfortably in bed so Laurent wouldn’t worry.

“Am I contagious, love?” Damen asked, worry creasing his brow.

“The doctor said not.” Laurent replied. “He said that if I were susceptible to it, I would have shown symptoms. I am safe, and gods willing, you will be too.” _And if the gods aren’t willing, they’ll answer to me._

Damen reached for Laurent, who came willingly to him. “I’m glad. I didn’t want you to feel like this.”

“Did you know? Before this?”

He shook his head. “I thought it was just the heat making me dizzy. If I’d known…”

Laurent carded through Damen’s hair, standing in front of him as Damen sat on the bed. He was sweating again, but he felt clammy. “We just have to move forward. I need you to trust me, trust that I can save you.”

Damen’s chin quivered and he pulled Laurent closer, burrowing his face into Laurent’s chest. “This is too much to put on you.”

“I will bear it, and more.” Laurent said, willing himself to keep it together. This felt backwards. “I know you’d do the same for me.”

Damen looked up, “In a heartbeat.”

Laurent bit his lip and controlled his breath, pulling him close again. “When we married, this became _our_ struggle.”

“I…” Damen sighed. “I wanted so much more.”

“And we’ll have it. You just have to trust me.”

Damen looked up, a smile drawing one side of his mouth. “I do.”

 

_**AUTUMN** _

Day after day working the loom rendered Laurent’s once soft hands scraped and scratched. His body ached from the amount of feathers he’d had to pluck thus far, and Damen’s fevers came and went unpredictably.

The garments he’d sold already had fetched a fair price-- perhaps half of what he needed. Laurent had yet to begin another garment, but when he went to, he realized too late that his abused fingers were beginning to bleed, and it tainted the last of his fabric. With a despairing groan, he took it up and went to wash it when he realized how late in the evening it was, and that he’d not fed Damen yet.

The fabric could wait. Damen sat patiently aside, looking up and smiling when Laurent came out. It was a surprise to see him up out of bed. Lately, that had been happening-- but it came at a price. Damen’s memory was suffering, a side effect, perhaps, of the near-constant fevers. He didn’t always remember he was sick.

The reminders were heartbreaking. Increased likelihood for Damen to push himself too hard, and Laurent would have to help him off the ground. His heart ached with each cough, each retch.

Laurent was in the middle of serving up dinner, putting some soup in a bowl, when Damen reached out and grabbed Laurent’s hand. A little too firmly, but when Laurent flinched from the pain of his stinging fingers, Damen’s grip loosened with a whispered and slurred apology.

“What’s wrong?” Laurent asked, when Damen didn’t let go.

“Beautiful.” He mumbled.

“What?”

“Your hands are beautiful.” He said.

Laurent put down the bowl and grasped Damen’s hand over his, noting how cold it was. He looked at his hands, and spoke. “If my hands were no longer beautiful, would you still love me and want me here with you?”

“Of course I would.” Damen said, firmer than he’d spoken in a while. And his grip tightened as he coughed, covering his mouth quickly and roughly enough to clap against his face.

Laurent bore the pain in his fingers, but the tightness of his chest was something that made him feel helpless.

The next two months were a flurry of tasks, and sleep was not among them. Laurent was at the loom every moment possible, binding his bleeding fingers with the scraps of fabric left over so he wouldn’t ruin his hard work. When Damen woke, he no longer got from bed. Delusions wracked him. Laurent would hear him from the loom, sometimes. Damen would rant for hours or until his coughing exhausted him too much. The first doses of medicine didn’t seem to be helping, but Laurent just prayed that it meant the fever would break.

Each word came weaker than the last. The pains that wracked Laurent’s body night and day got worse with each feather pulled. But his resolve never wavered. He would continue until his fingers failed or he ran out of feathers. He would not rest until Damen was safe.

Fall was nearly over. The trees sat like barren skeletons stark against the cloudless, grey skies. The crows, once a sound of kinship, began to bring to mind a feeling Laurent couldn’t shake. As the world around him took the pallor of death, he felt he was fighting a losing battle to keep it from touching his love.

 

_**WINTER** _

It had been beautiful, the ceremony. Quiet and private, no family to either one of them. Their love had filled the room, so much of it that it had made up for how the townspeople whispered that such a secretive ritual was doomed to be short lived.

Laurent didn’t want to be bitter now. The last bit of warmth that clung to him was just inside the house, resting on a cot by the fire. Laurent held his cloak of feathers-- or what was left of it. He let his legs dangle off the side of the porch, looking out at the snow. It wasn’t sticking to the ground yet, but Laurent didn’t care anymore.

He was running out of time. He didn’t have enough money. And the cruelest barb amongst it all was that the cloak he held too tightly in his hands would be all that he had left. With just that one, solitary feather on it.

Memories were a continuous thread, pulling one way then the other, repeating, flowing in a constant stream through Laurent’s head. Absently, his fingers settled on that lone feather. He’d made a promise to Nicaise, yes… but…

What did he need that promise for, anymore? It was the final threshold, wasn’t it? He was about to lose Damen, and at this point, kinship would be too merciful.

And the years had gone by without his story having been told. That burned him. Damen deserved to know who he loved. Laurent wasn’t ashamed of his past-- he was just scared. But now, he just felt numb.

“If I told you I was never human…” Laurent said, his fingers tightening on the stem of the feather. “Would you still love me and want me here with you?” The liquid in his eyes stung from the cold, but Laurent could barely feel it.

His grip tightened on the feather.

“Of course I do.” A clear and deep voice whispered at his ear. Warmth, so long gone it made Laurent sag into it, enveloped him with his arms. His large hand wrapped around Laurent’s as it shook. “Even without your wings, you’ll always be the person I fell for.”

A breathy laugh, the one that Laurent had missed so sorely, shook him. “You know… I still can’t forget when we first met... the crane that flew so beautifully, and brought me the truest wealth.” The feather lay within both of their hands, and Damen wrapped Laurent tightly in his arms. “And even now, please never doubt how I’ll always love you.”

But even now, his warmth was fading.

Around Damen, the snow glowed and drifted upwards. He, himself, glowed, as vibrant as when they’d met. He passed right through Laurent, now, holding that last feather in his hand.

Laurent whirled to look behind him, and saw Damen laying too still, too pallid on his cot, and he broke down. He squeezed the cloak, expecting it to rip-- but a familiar sensation prickled his fingers.

Feathers. Rows and rows of new baby feathers.

 

_**SPRING** _

Nicaise had been a good helper. Laurent, with all that useless money, bought him gaudy gems and shinies to take back home with him, for all his help and support. He did repairs around the farm.

He stayed busy. It was all he had, now.

Nicaise worked up the nerve to ask Laurent why he didn’t leave the farm, come back home. Laurent explained as best he could that this farm was his home, and he couldn’t abandon it when Damen had worked so hard to keep it as it was.

He sat on the porch alone one morning. The birds called to him, singing a familiar melody.

_You have such a beautiful voice._

Laurent couldn’t breathe. He went inside and shut the door.

 

_**SUMMER** _

Tending the field was hard work for anyone. Luckily, when Laurent broke under the weight of it all, Nicaise was there to help, with a few of his crow buddies. Laurent paid them in food.

Normally, Nicaise and his fellows would refuse, but it was something in the way Laurent only seemed strong in company. It was that when he thought he was unobserved, he broke.

It didn’t feel right to make him eat alone, and being human certainly brought on an appetite. They made what excuses they could, but it was all too simple: Laurent needed the company more than the help.

Once, in the field, Laurent's basket broke, spilling all his tools onto the ground. Normally, he'd have just picked them back up, but as Nicaise and the others looked on, Laurent screamed and threw them as hard and as far as he could. Afterwards, he'd just stood there, staring out into the distance with all the frightful chill of winter dancing in his eyes.

 

_**AUTUMN** _

Laurent had bid the crows farewell after the harvest. He canned as much as he could for winter, not knowing how much he’d need alone. Naturally, he’d gone for the amount he and Damen had canned the year before things had gone so wrong.

The house was too quiet, too cold. A silence that was cloying. Laurent felt like if he screamed, the silence would overpower him. He felt like he existed in a void. A vacuum.

All his newly canned food collected dust. Laurent grew thinner.

 

_**WINTER** _

The crackling of the fire was the only sound in the house aside from the occasional creak of floorboards as Laurent shuffled around.

Before, winter’s dance of survival had seemed sweeter. Warmer. Now it just felt empty.

He’d worn all of Damen’s clothes until they’d lost his scent, and then until they were threadbare, deteriorating more with each wash.

Laurent was tired of crying. Tired in general. He had moved the cot back into the main room to be closer to the hearth and decided while he was at it that he was just tired.

Laying down in front of the fire that was already dwindling, Laurent willed himself to fall asleep. The cold was creeping in, but as sleep also approached, and he decided if he felt the cold at all, it wasn’t a big deal.

 

In his dreams, there was color. There was warmth, and there was the familiar and beloved scent of Damen. But when the feeling of breath on his nape awoke him, Laurent lay very still, deciphering if he was still dreaming.

"It snowed like this when we met." He whispered, his large, warm hand brushing Laurent’s hair back. His lips lit on Laurent’s neck.

Laurent snapped up, nearly colliding with Damen, who smiled nervously at him.

Laurent’s eyes welled with tears, and he reached out, grasping Damen’s face, his hair, and crushing himself to him, inhaling him, merging with him as much as he could.

"Am I dead?" He finally asked.

Damen chuckled. "You’re about as chilly as a corpse. When's the last time you ate?"

Laurent’s laugh was watery and pathetic and he couldn't respond for all he wanted to.

Damen reached behind him, pulled away from Laurent just enough. "I must give you something."

"What?"

"I’m sorry I took so long. So I have something for you." It was heavy and warm. And covered in coarse, dense fur.

Laurent ran his fingers over it. _What… is this for?_

And then it hit him. "This is your new cloak, isn’t it?"

"Mm. Yeah." He leaned in and kissed Laurent.

"Damen. I can’t take this from you."

He smiled against Laurent’s jaw. "You can. I trust these hands, and I love this heart." He placed a hand over Laurent's chest, feeling the frantic pulse within. "I would put my life in your hands a million times again, just for four more seasons with you."

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme know if you hate me after that roller coaster ride. At least I gave it closure, since the song didn't, right?
> 
> Small reminder that I have another Captive Prince story in the works currently. I'll put it in a series with this one, so if you're curious, you can bookmark this series!


End file.
